


City of Thieves

by bug_in_a_rug, mamunia



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV), Hetalia: Axis Powers, Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, World History - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Gotham AU, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, My First AO3 Post, Out of Character, possibly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bug_in_a_rug/pseuds/bug_in_a_rug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamunia/pseuds/mamunia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gotham City is on the verge of breaking into a massive war. The police aren't fighting for justice anymore. Politicians only work for money and power. All seems lost, but even in the darkest of times, Gotham finds hope. The new cop in town, Ludwig Beilschmidt, is a beacon of light, and after promising a newly orphaned girl that he'll find the murderer of her parents, he begins to realize the truth about the city- it's worse off than he expected. With his strong ideals and belief in the city, Ludwig and the few noble people left in Gotham may be the city's last hope in saving it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mais Tout Doit Finir Pourtant Dans La Vie

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, uh this is my first fic I've actually posted, and it's co-written with a friend, bug_in_a_rug, who's also new to writing fanfiction. Sorry if this chapter is a little slow starting out; there will be many more chapters after this one lol. Anyway, you probably don't have to know too much about any of these fandoms to read this since most of the characters are either OOC or pretty universal to every day life. Feedback would be much appreciated. Please enjoy :)

 

> _Chapter 1 - Mais Tout Doit Finir Pourtant Dans La Vie_
> 
> In Gotham City, two things are needed to make a name for yourself: money and power. The way one goes about acquiring these- well… that’s not important. There’s the noble and the ignoble, and that’s all you need to know to understand this city. Of the handful of the righteous people, the Bigfords were the best. Rod Bigford was the most successful doctor in the city, but he still did pro bono work for the ever-growing lower class. His wife Shannon was a beautiful, aristocratic, debutant who supported just about every charity in Gotham. As before stated, the ignoble outweigh the noble, and that led to a tragedy greater than any told before, and that is the beginning of this story.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> "Beilschmidt, Bonham, get in here."
> 
> Ludwig looked up from his paperwork to see his blond superior leaning over the upstairs railing of the Gotham City Police Department and motioning him towards his office. "What do you need Commissioner Kirkland?" the new detective practically yelled in reply, speaking over the typical sounds of the GCPD- the complaints of pickpockets and muggers in the holding cells, the monotonous beeping of the coffee machines, and the chatter of officers on desk duty. The steps of the aged stairway creaked as he obediently followed the Englishman into his office.
> 
> “There’s been a murder on the corner of Sila and Monet. We need you and your lackadaisical partner to investigate,” Kirkland said, his British accent lilting in annoyance as he sat down with a dignified air.
> 
> “Who’s been murdered this time? And lacka-what?”
> 
> A sudden, pungent odor of alcohol and cheap cologne wafted into Commissioner Kirkland’s office as the aforementioned, and frankly scruffy-looking, partner strolled duly into the room.
> 
> “Lackadaisical. You would know that word if you had actually passed year eight. It’s the Bigfords. They’ve been shot.” Kirkland crossed his arms over his chest, momentarily proud of his insult. His usual serious attitude returned as he again realized the severity of the tragedy. “All three of the rich bastards?” asked Bonham, completely unfazed by the comment. “Rodney and Shannon only. The girl is still alive. She was present during the entire situation. This is a major hit to the city, so don’t let any of this information out to the press. And Beilschmidt, I don’t usually give a rookie a case like this, so this is an honor. Don’t screw this up.” “Yes sir,” Ludwig said with a respectful nod and turned on his heel, already almost out the door. “Let’s go Mr. Bonham.” “Please, Mr. Bonham was my father, and he’s in hell. Call me Bonzo. And wait up too, this isn’t a fucking marathon,” the brunet said as he transitioned from a casual lope to an almost run to catch up with the man with flaxen hair.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Arthur Kirkland had been commissioner for 9 years. In spite of his austere way of ruling managing the police department, he was fairly well-liked and popular. He’d never made friends, and he’d never needed to; people respected him but kept their distance. It was like that for 6 years, until two of the most excruciatingly annoying people Arthur had ever known came into his life and stayed there.
> 
> Loud laughter rung through the bullpen as Alfred F. Jones, Honorary Junior Detective (or at least that’s what it said on the business cards he made at OfficeMax), ran up the stairs to Arthur’s office. The older blond man’s sigh was audible to just about everybody on the second floor.
> 
> Three years before, the police station had held a drawing where any young boy or girl who entered had a chance to become a “detective” and spend a day at the police station. The station was expecting someone a little younger than Alfred, but it just so happened that the winner was a six year old in a sixteen year old’s body. Three years afterward, he was still coming into “work” every day, and he was still infuriating the commissioner.
> 
> “Hey boss! Got any missions for me today?” The exuberant man with dirty blond hair bounced into the room and into one of the leather chairs in front of the commissioner’s desk. Arthur’s green eyes squinted in discontent at the young man in front of him as he ran a hand through his blond locks with a sigh.
> 
> “First, there aren’t missions. You’re not a spy; you’re a deranged twenty year old who really needs to get out of my office before I strangle you. Second, stop being so loud. If you’re going to pretend to be a detective, at least have some stealth. Hell, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’ve said it every day for the past three years, and you still have the grace of a two-legged horse. Lastly, I actually do need something of you.”
> 
> Arthur was prepared for whatever was to be the young man’s reaction to the last bit and rightly so; the taller man completely disregarded what had been said before the commissioner’s last request, and after hearing it, his blue eyes shone brightly behind his glasses and a wide smile spread across his face, followed by an outcry of joy. Arthur visibly winced at that.
> 
> “What do you need me to do, boss? Catch that axe murderer? Be a mole for Braginsky? Or Joker? Or I could just go undercover or-”
> 
> “Catch the criminals who gave you your fashion sense?”
> 
> The young American’s babbling was cut off by Francis Bonnefoy, the French medical examiner with unspecified sexuality, who glided into the commissioner’s office and leaned against the doorframe with ease.
> 
> Arthur’s attention was immediately given to the long haired man standing in his doorway like he owned the place. After processing the words, the Englishman’s first thought was to see what he was wearing that was so offensive to Francis– a dark green button up with a taupe and green sweater vest over it, black slacks, and his usual brown dress shoes. Nothing out of the ordinary.
> 
> “I’ll have you know, _frog_ , that what I’m wearing is excellent quality and fashionable,” Arthur said with a huff.
> 
> “Perhaps for Alfred’s grandfather here, but not for a young stylish man like myself,” Francis said with a laugh, the American giggling as well. “Of course, you do have potential; you’ve got the body for it, _mon ami._ ” He winked as his superior’s face turned increasingly deep shades of red and left the room as easily as he came in.
> 
> Arthur grumbled for a bit then lamely called, “And how many times do I have to tell you to pull your stupid hair back at work!” Alfred gave the shorter man a questioning look, and the latter was able to shoo the American out of the room with only his glare. He didn’t even ask about his “mission.”
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> The two detectives rolled up to the scene in a black Dodge Charger as a light drizzle continued to fall from the city's dark sky. Ludwig hustled out of the regulation police issue car, leaving his English partner struggling to get out of the low-sitting vehicle.
> 
> “Mr. Bonham, please leave your drink in the car!” shouted Ludwig, glancing over his shoulder to see Bonzo taking a sip out of his shot glass. He continued to walk towards the huddle of policemen and paramedics surrounding the tragedy. “It sure looks like everyone here could use a shot or five” grumbled the excessively hairy man, struggling to catch up with his partner.
> 
> Ludwig’s pace doubled at the sight of the corpses wrapped in sheets, but before he could make it to the scene, a fair-sized, recently shaven man in a red polo sweater practically sprinted towards the tall blond man.
> 
> “Mr. Beilschmidt! Please wait! The Gotham Times needs access beyond these ropes!” the reporter said as he briskly jogged next to the barrier.
> 
> “No, I’m sorry. No press allowed," Ludwig said as he tried to maneuver past the reporter with a seemingly Italian accent.
> 
> “But Mr. Beilschmidt, who’s been murdered? Is it true that they're the infamous Bigfords? The people of Gotham must know!” The journalist trotted behind the tall German detective, hoping to catch even the smallest piece of information to exploit.
> 
> “Please leave the premises,” stated Ludwig as he turned to the reporter then walked away, but not before catching a brief glimpse of his nametag that read "'Marco Polo."
> 
> When Bonzo eventually caught up with Ludwig, who was leaning down and examining one of the bodies, he left him to it and began to speak to the field medical examiner instead of bothering his partner.
> 
> “So, what do we need to do here? I have so many places I’d rather be than here right now, and one of them’s in your pants,” the burly detective said with a wink at the young brunette. The girl whipped around and glared at the man intensely.
> 
> “The bodies have to be examined as soon as possible back at the lab, so all you have to do is find any witnesses and get the _hell_ away from me.” With that, she turned again and stalked off to help in getting the corpses into her vehicle to subsequently get them back to the morgue.
> 
> “Love you too, Monica!” Bonzo called after her and then turned to Ludwig and said, “Luddy Poo, where’s the witness?”
> 
> Ludwig replied, “She’s over there on the fire escape. Let me talk to her. You can check the woman's pearls for fingerprints. And please refrain from calling me anything other than Ludwig.” Bonzo walked off, glad not to have to interview a child about her parents’ death. He was quite aware he would’ve just made her cry more. Not to mention he was still a little tipsy.
> 
> Ludwig began walking towards the girl. She was sitting with an unusual stillness with tears streaming down her face. Her face was pretty and dotted with freckles and had eyes that glistened different shades of green, blue, and brown. She was wearing a nice grey dress and a jacket that was soaked with water though it hadn’t been raining that long. Ludwig walked over to her and sat down. He said nothing but instead put a comforting arm around her. She didn't react to his thoughtful gesture; she was still in a post-traumatic trance. The blue-eyed man quietly and cautiously said, “My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt. I’m sorry, I know it’s very hard, but I’m going to have to ask you about what happened.” The Bigford girl looked up, face without anger or sadness or any other emotion for that matter, blinked her eyes and said, “Okay.”
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> _10:52 P.M. - The Corner of Sila and Mone_ t
> 
> The narrow streets and alleys around Monarch Theatre seemed to be a maze of shadows and fog with the odor of garbage seeping out of the half-closed dumpsters. A few seconds before 10:37 P.M., a light drizzle began to stir and made the temperature drop down to an uncomfortable chilliness.
> 
> “Stay under the umbrella, Madalyn. It’s so cold," Rod Bigford said, putting a protective around his daughter's shoulders. She shrugged away. "I'm fine, dad. You're embarrassing me," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
> 
> "Madalyn, be nicer to your father. He was the one who thought to get the Rocky Horror Picture Show tickets for you, and you did enjoy the show didn't you?" her mother chastised.
> 
> Madalyn sighed and said, "Sorry dad. I really enjoyed it, and thanks for taking me." As the girl rolled her eyes, she caught a glimpse of a man walking towards her family. All three of them froze in their tracks, Rod placing an arm instinctively in front of his wife and daughter.
> 
> "Gimme your wallet... uh and the pearls, lady," the strange man said. His face except for his eyes was covered by a scarf and his head was covered by a toboggan, making it impossible name his identity. Rod reached into his coat pocket slowly and took out his wallet, gently placing it on the ground in front of the mugger. Madalyn watched as the strange man ripped the pearls from her mother's neck, and heard the sound of two shots from a previously concealed weapon ring out. The next thing she knew, her parents were on the ground taking their last breaths.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> “Thank you for telling me. I know how hard it is to lose your parents,” Ludwig said distantly, patting the crying girl on the back gingerly. Judging the situation by the detective’s spacey look in his pale blue eyes, Madalyn decided against saying anything and instead merely nodded. They sat in silence for a while before they were accosted by Bonzo briskly walking towards them.
> 
> “Lud, we’ve gotta go. The evidence is all bagged up, and the bodies are loaded and gotta get cut ASAP.” Upon earning a wail from the girl and a more-threatening-than-usual glare from Ludwig, the portly man turned and walked away.
> 
> Suddenly Madalyn looked up at Ludwig with pleading eyes. “Promise me something, Mr. Beilschmidt.” The addressed man nodded, urging her to go on.
> 
> “Promise me you’ll find the person who did this.”
> 
> Ludwig embraced the girl protectively and murmured, “I promise,” in reply. He walked away from the girl in seeing that her butler, soon to be caretaker, had arrived, and didn’t bother in stopping to meet the Asian man, knowing they’d see each other again. With a final glance at Madalyn and her butler, Ludwig got into the passenger’s seat of the Charger as Bonzo started the car. A roll of thunder sounded in the distance, and the detectives were gone.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> Far above the dingy street corner, a shadowy figure observed the scene from the roof of the theater, a feeling of nostalgia and sadness creeping over him. The rain fell onto his black armor, but it didn’t bother him. He was acclimated to the weather patterns of Gotham City; he had been there for a very long time.
> 
> “Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, Bats! What’s got you all sulky?” a voice exclaimed from behind.
> 
> Batman wasn’t surprised. He’d heard the clown’s footsteps moments ago.
> 
> “The girl. The murderer. I know what she’s feeling,” replied the dark crusader as he turned to face the man.
> 
> “Since when have you had feelings, Batty-kins?” the clown said as he walked closer to Batman, a shot glass that was just in a police car in his hand becoming visible as he stepped out of the shadows and into the light casted from the streetlights.
> 
> Batman breathily stated, “I’m a figure of justice, not a monster like you.”
> 
> “Your mom’s a monster in bed!” howled the Joker. “You know seducing a man dressed as a bat isn’t as easy as it looks. I’m just a professional.”
> 
> Batman ignored the clown's comment and instead asked, “What are you doing here?”
> 
> The Joker smiled a very wide smile and cackled, “Same as you. I’m interested.” He began pacing around and a little too quietly he said, “You do know who did it don’t you?”
> 
> “I assume _you_ do, and you want to tell me,” he replied curtly.
> 
> “Ooo, you're a little sassy today. The answer is um.. no, no, yes, maybe, but you’ve got to earn the answer, Batsy!”
> 
> “Tell me.”
> 
> The vigilante took a step forward.
> 
> “Now why would I do that?"
> 
> “Because you and I both know what is about to happen to this city.”
> 
> The Joker sighed and flashed a sad smile. “This city is about to break. The people had their shots at fixing what they’ve done to this place. Guess it’s too late for another shot,” he said as he took out a bottle of tequila from somewhere in his purple coat. He poured it into the glass, but before drinking it, gestured to his enemy and asked with a raise of his brows, “Want a drink?”
> 
> Batman stared at the clown in front of him for a moment.
> 
> “I haven’t given up hope yet.”
> 
> With that, the Dark Knight was gone.


	2. Prazdnik dlâ Besstrašnyj

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A petty errand boy realizes his potential as a rising power in Gotham's organized crime ring... An English commissioner keeps his secret passion hidden... A socially awkward detective tries to make a joke... An elderly Asian man may have a crush on a young reporter... Find out this and more in this week's installment of City of Thieves!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for how late this is! A lot has been going on lately, and so we hardly had any time to write. This chapter is pretty long but sort of sucks. It's getting a bit slashier which is always fun. Hope you enjoy!

_The Night of the Murder- 10:15 PM_

“No, no, this is not what I was wanting at all.”

Ivan Braginsky, leader of the Russian mafia in Gotham, paced the back room of one of the restaurants- this one happened to be _Prazdnik dlâ Besstrašnyj_ \- he controlled. His recent rise to power had allowed him to branch out from his prior dealings in weapons, and into infiltrating the government. In order to do so, meetings had to be held, and Braginsky felt that a five-star restaurant would be more appropriate than a warehouse full of machine guns.

The tall Russian smiled at his two main subordinates in front of him, his pink scarf wrapped around his neck adding mystery to the intimidation already felt by the men. “You must be doing the redeeming of yourselves very quickly if you wish to be living for long time," he said in a tone far too sweet for the threatening words.

 

The darker-haired of the two gulped and replied in a shaky Liverpudlian accent, “Yes, _Pakhan_ Braginsky, sir.” The other stifled a laugh and mumbled his apology at the Russian's questioning look.

 

“Good. Now tell me of the plans for the clown, since the clown is knowing of mine. You have arranged for the spy to be in the order, correct? And no one is knowing this time? You wouldn’t want  more of your _Pakhan’s_ secrets to be found out, now would you?” Braginsky smiled again, this time with apparent malice in his violet eyes.

“I think John knows about that, yeah?” the darker-haired man, Paul, said with a flick of the wrist, referring to the other brunet next to him.

“Yeah, yeah. Bloke’s name is Jim. He’s good, from what I hear,” the other man said bluntly, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Let’s hope you are doing the hearing well."

 

"Why are we doing this anyway?" Paul asked in a tone brasher than usual.

"We are killing two birds with one stone, _kotik_. We kill those troublesome Bigfords and frame one of the Joker's best men at the same time. Is not your Pakhan very smart? Actually, they should be dead about now. Now get out and send me the _s_ _hestyorka_.”

Paul nodded, and the two brigadiers left the room to retrieve the errand boy. They found the short man with dark hair and a permanent scowl on his face in the kitchen, talking into a cell phone and turned toward the back wall.

"Yes, _fratello_. Yes, I'll be home by tomorrow. No, I won't buy you pasta. Don't you have your own damn money?” Lovino caught a glimpse of his two superiors and turned to face them. “Look Feli, I’ve gotta go. See you tomorrow.” As the Italian hung up, his frown deepened as he looked from John to Paul in contempt.

“What do you bastards want?” he asked, tapping his foot overdramatically.

“It isn’t what we want, you wanker, it’s what the boss wants. Get in there before he starts doing the ‘kol’ thing again,” John said, his thin eyes narrowing at the insolent man.

Lovino grumbled in reply and brushed his way past them, entering the meeting room directly adjacent from the kitchen. John and Paul looked at each other, shrugged, then left the building to finish the _Pakhan’s_ orders.

Lovino stopped and crossed his arms over his chest as soon as he got through the door to the meeting room.

“What do you want, Ivan?”  he asked impatiently.

Braginsky, looking almost amused by his young follower, said with a mouthful of beef stroganov, “Please be calling me by _Pakhan_ , Mr. Vargas. Using my first name is very disrespectful. Anyway, I need of you to be retrieving of the Bigford woman’s pearl necklace from the police. You have connection at the department, do you not? Your boyfriend, da?”

“He isn’t my boyfriend, _idiota_.” Lovino turned red in embarrassment, but continued,  “But I do know a guy there. He can get me in the evidence locker for sure. I’ll be back in an hour and a half at the most.”

“Good. Now get out of here, slave,” commanded the Russian mob boss, a smirk playing on his lips. Lovino internalized his animosity for the man and instead turned obediently, working his way through the busy restaurant. When he got outside the renovated building located in a nicer part of town, he looked down at his “uniform”- a tuxedo with a long tailcoat and a red bowtie- and growled. I _s this really what I wanted to do with my life? Dress like a bastard and hang out with a bunch of bastards and take orders from bastards?_ he thought, walking to his black motorcycle, ready to make his way to the other restaurant across town where he’d settle things with his “connection.” _I really need to get some friends. Or get a job. Or usurp that asshole Braginsky._ The last option sounded promising to Lovino, so, with a smirk, he sped away.

                                   

* * *

_The Night of the Murder - 11:25 P.M._

The two detectives stepped out of their car and into the chill of Gotham City’s night. Ludwig didn’t wait for his partner as he quickly made his way from the parking lot of the GCPD to the stone steps of the aging building.

 

“Hey Lud, wait up! I don’t even run that fast to an all you can eat buffet! Who am I kidding, I don’t run,” Bonzo joked, again trying to keep up with his partner.

Ludwig turned and said, “I don’t have time for your stupid antics. There’s a little girl out there who just lost both of her parents, and it’s up to me- I mean us to find who did this.” The German’s azure eyes seemed to be locked upon those of his partner, but Bonzo felt as if he was being looked through. For once, he had nothing to say.

Ludwig pivoted on his heel and stormed into the building, the distant look still in his eye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur sat in his office, releasing his stress the best way he knew - needlepoint. Being around two idiots like Francis and Alfred could be tiring.

When the Englishman heard footsteps approaching his office door, he quickly hid the canvas of his current work in progress - a portrait of the Queen. He did so at just the right time, as a frankly perturbed looking Ludwig plodded into the room.

“What’s the meaning of this, Beilschmidt? Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” Arthur said, standing from his chair, obviously exasperated.

“Have they analyzed the pearls yet?” Ludwig asked, his voice raised to an almost shout.

Arthur was not pleased. First he’d had to put up with a childish twit and a perverted douchebag, and now he had to deal with a disrespectful rookie barging into his office, demanding things of him. And the Queen’s nose wasn’t turning out as planned.

“No,” he said, his jade eyes below his wiry brows bright in restrained anger. “The murder was a mugging. You know how difficult those are. Plus the bloody Frenchman isn’t done with the autopsies yet, and it's the bloody middle of the night. So you’ll just have to wait.”

“Can’t you have Monica do it?” Ludwig asked, a hint of desperation in his baritone voice.

“What the hell are you on about, Beilschmidt? I’m sure Francis will get to the pearls tomorrow. You’ve got a lot of bottle to come in here and speak to your superior like this.”

The taller man stared at Arthur for a moment, then sighed in defeat, “Yes sir. It was very inappropriate of me to speak that way to you. I hope you can forgive me.”

Arthur put his hands on his hips, letting out a breath and looking around the room. Catching a glance of Bonzo passed out at his desk on the first floor, the British man said, “You are forgiven. Now get out of here. And wake up your barmy partner while you’re at it.” He sat down again, watching as Ludwig nodded and left the room. Then he deemed it safe to work on the Queen some more.

* * *

_The Night of the Murder - 11:24 P.M._

“Lovi!” Antonio yelled from across the restaurant. Noticing that Lovino wasn’t nearly as excited to see him as he expected the younger man to be, he found it necessary to sprint to the entrance where the Italian stood, leaving the guests at the table he was waiting without a server. The two had met one night when Antonio decided to eat at one of the many restaurants at which Lovino “served”, and from that day forward, Antonio never left the irratible 20 year old alone.

As Antonio wrapped his arms around him in a bone-crushing hug, Lovino angrily whispered, "Get off me, you bastard, people are staring.”

“It’s been so long!” exclaimed Antonio as he broke away from the hug only to look adoringly upon his self-proclaimed boyfriend. He obviously didn’t notice that the restaurant was fairly busy and that he was supposed to be working and also didn’t notice that he was making a scene. Lovino blushed and pulled Antonio quickly out of the restaurant and into the busy city street, where hopefully no one would mind how embarrassing the Spanish man was.

“I need a favor. You’re working at the GCPD tonight correct?” asked the Italian man whose hands were planted firmly upon on the shoulders of the Spaniard, trying to get his attention focused on something other than him.

 

“Yes. My shift begins at 1:00 tonight,” Antonio looked at his friend, marveled at how close their bodies were, and grinned a little.

“I need you to get me inside to the evidence locker. Can you do that?” Lovino’s voice was urgent and his heavy breathing was visible in the cold air. His amber eyes were trembling but had a glint of mischief behind them.

“I can do that. Anything for you Lovino,” Antonio said with a hopeful smile.

“Shut up. That’s gay,” Lovino turned and walked to his bike, the Spaniard close behind. As he began to drive to the police department, he noticed, much to his dismay, that Antonio had managed to cling to his back tightly and lean his head on Lovino’s shoulder. But of course the Italian didn’t protest.

Around the same time the two European men were driving into the parking lot of the GCPD, Ludwig was searching through the old case files, looking for information relative to whom the murderer may be. It didn’t matter how long he worked late; it wasn’t like the 24 year old didn’t have anyone to go home to.

Hiding his bike in the least conspicuous parking space available, Lovino dismounted and whispered to Antonio, “That’s the guy,” referring to a spindly man looking to be at least 30 who was sullenly walking into the building.

Antonio laughed easily, his emerald eyes shining, and said, “What guy?”

Lovino growled and pointed. “That guy.”

“Oh him. That’s John Paul Jones. I work with him tonight,” the Spaniard explained.

“I know! Damn it you bastard, do you even know what we’re doing here?! That’s Joker’s inside man. You’re going to frame him for stealing the pearls and for killing the Bigfords." The last bit was said as if he were speaking to a child.

Antonio winced at the mention of killing.

“They’re still alive right?”

“No. Braginsky had them killed about an hour ago. Now we have to go in and steal those damn pearls," Lovino said, walking towards the building.

"But it's only midnight! And I haven’t put on my uniform yet!" Antonio called after him. He waited a few seconds for an answer he knew wouldn't come, so he reluctantly followed the shorter man to the entrance of the police department.

The brunet’s curls bounced happily as he practically skipped through the doorway, but he immediately stopped and frowned at the sight of Lovino obviously being interrogated by Ludwig.

“What’s the problem, _amigos_?” Antonio said with a smile as he walked up to the two arguing men.

“This bastard won’t let me come in. Tell him to let me in, you bastard!” Lovi exclaimed, looking from Ludwig to Antonio as if deciding who he was angrier with.

The Spaniard’s brilliantly white teeth glinted in the fluorescent lighting of the first corridor of the police station as he grinned at the angry German man. “I apologize, Ludwig. My boyfriend here just really wanted to see where I work, and you know how it goes, this little cutie always gets his way,” Antonio said, wrapping his arm around Lovino’s waist and playfully ruffling his hair with the other hand. Lovino smiled nervously, his visage turning pink in embarrassment. It took all of the reserve he had to not kill Antonio right then and there, but he had to play along.

Ludwig frowned in confusion, not knowing “how it goes”, but shrugged and said, “All right. I suppose he can stay. But you should probably change into your uniform, Mr. Carriedo. We wouldn’t want you being mistaken for a trespasser.”

Antonio smiled in bemusement at Ludwig’s failed attempt at humor. Lovino was about to insult the socially awkward man, but Antonio kicked him slightly and motioned to walk away. “See you, Ludwig,” Antonio said as he and Lovino walked into the bathroom which was through the first door on the right of the hallway leading to the bullpen.

As Antonio pulled his neatly folded security guard uniform out of the bag he carried along with him everywhere, Lovino leaned back on the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

"So you know the plan right?" he asked, a blush creeping onto his cheeks when he caught a glance of a shirtless Antonio as he was changing; he honestly asked again to not only ensure that the not-so-bright man would understand the plan, but also to distract himself from the half-naked work of art that was Antonio's body. It was late, so the Spaniard decided not to go into a stall to change since no one would come in. It was very hard for the Italian not to look.

“Of course I do,” Antonio began, buttoning up his navy blue oxford shirt that read “guard” in large, silver type on the right arm. Lovino noticed how it fit a little bit too tightly around the other brunet’s biceps. The Italian shook his head from the thought.

“I make it look like Jonesy took the pearls while you actually do that. That’s it right?” Antonio glanced at himself in the mirror, adjusting his cap then turning to face his sole romantic interest with a bright smile on his face.

Lovino blushed at the obvious adoration in the other’s gaze and mumbled, “Yeah, that’s it, you bastard.”

 

* * *

__**  
**

Bigford Manor quietly awoke from its slumber as its two residents began to move about. Kublai Khan, an old yet spry man, was the first to awake. This morning was like any other to Mr. Khan; he woke up at 6:00 to dress himself for his long day of work, prepared Madalyn’s breakfast, tidied up the house, and read the Gotham Times as he sipped his coffee and waited for Madalyn to get up. Madalyn, having not slept the night before, decided to come down at 8:45. Her tired eyes glistened with the tears she held back when she realized that her parents weren’t talking downstairs, and they wouldn’t ever again. Madalyn trudged out of bed, determined to stay strong. She walked down her polished, iron staircase with her head looking down at the cold, pale white tile. Sunlight attempted to sneak itself inside the house though it didn’t belong there. The massive stone manor was a rustic light brown in color, and the priceless antique furniture of the 17th and 18th centuries that filled the mansion only accentuated the dreary day. Bigford Manor was practically its own city, but its residents weren’t the typical, pretentious, unfeeling people the wealthy are believed to be. This morning they couldn’t help but submit to the somber atmosphere which consumed their lives.

“Ms. Madalyn, how did you sleep?” questioned the butler as he flashed a feigned smile and looked up from his newspaper.

“I didn’t sleep very much at all,” replied the girl who was wearing the old black robe of her mother rather than her favorite gray one.

"Neither did I,” replied the old man as he got up to pull Madalyn’s croissants out of the oven. “How many would you like?” he asked, placing the tray gently on the counter.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve got to eat Ms. Madalyn.”

“I’ll eat later,” and with that she crossed the kitchen and pushed the crimson curtains away to peer outside, only to see numerous cars with Gotham Times written on their sides. The reporters strutted around the courtyard with journals, cameras, and mics as if they owned the place. Madalyn couldn’t help but hate the lot of them.

The older Asian man walked up behind Madalyn, wondering what she could be looking at. When he saw the reporters, he sighed and said, “What people these days lack in tact they make up for in dedication. They’ve probably been waiting out there all morning.” Almost instantly after he finished speaking, a quick loud knock rattled against the giant front door.

“Mr. Kublai Khan! The Gotham Times would like to know a few things! Are you there?” spoke the outside voice.

“Bunch of ilijigs!” Mr. Khan mumbled to himself as he walked into the main foyer. He opened the door and with a polite smile said, “Yes sir, how may I help you?”

In front of him stood a reporter with light brown hair and blue eyes. He was young- most likely around 20 or 25- and he carried with him a leather book, presumably for journalism. His blue eyes were full of optimism and adventure, something Kublai hadn’t seen for a long time. Though the Bigford tragedy had just happened the day before, life with them wasn’t as glamorous as it seemed. Rod and Shannon fought constantly, but usually tried to hide it from Madalyn. It hurt Kublai to know he was taking part in deceiving a little girl. So for some reason, probably having to do with his eyes, Kublai let the reporter in.

"Hi, my name is Marco Polo! I'm head reporter of the Gotham Times.  We have a few questions for you. Do you mind if we conduct the interview inside?" he questioned as he shivered- Kublai noticed his breath in the air.

"No not all. Come in," replied the butler as he rubbed his rugged and aged hands and stepped back to welcome in the Italian reporter. "Have a seat here."  Mr. Khan motioned towards the large white sofa.  The reporter sat down and began to prep for the interview as the older man began to walk towards the large armchair in which Rodney Bigford used to sit in, but instead he turned to sit on the couch with the Italian man. "Ms. Madalyn you may run upstairs and watch television while I talk to Mr. Polo."

"No, I'd like to hear this interview." firmly stated the fair girl whose eyes glistened and stared coldly into the eyes of Marco Polo.

 **  
**"Well let's get started," said the reporter sporting a green Polo sweater with a click of his pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Prazdnik dlâ Besstrašnyj- Russian for Feast for the Fearless  
> Kotik- Russian for pussycat  
> Pakhan- term for leader of a mob in Russian mafia  
> Shestyorka- term for an errand boy type thing in Russian mafia; lowest ranking  
> Fratello- Italian for brother  
> Idiota- Italian for idiot  
> Amigos- Spanish for friends


	3. She's On The Verge, I'm On The Brink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a late update! Hope you're still reading.. There will be more though.

_The Next Morning - 8:15 AM_

“What do you mean ‘they’re missing’?!” Arthur fumed, immediately springing up from his chair.

“I mean they’re not there. The pearls are gone” Monica said, a concerned Francis at her side.

Ludwig, having slept only an hour before coming into work at 7:15, leaned against the back wall of the office with dark circles under his eyes and a frankly enraged visage.

“What do you propose we do about this, hm? If this gets out, the press won’t leave us alone about it. Our department will be a laughing stock,” the Englishman said through gritted teeth.

“And the girl! It’s my I mean our duty to her to find her parents’ killers,” Ludwig added, his voice low from lack of sleep.

“It should be kept quiet. We’ll need some kind of ruse to divert attention from this particular case though,” the brunette suggested, crossing her arms matter-of-factly. Francis opted to stay quiet and nod in agreement; he left the analytical thinking to the field examiner.

Arthur sighed, running a hand down his face. “All right. We’ll think of something. As of now, this is between you two imbeciles, Beilschmidt, and me.”

“What is?”

Bonzo strolled into the room, a donut in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Everyone stared at him in disdain, but he either didn’t notice, or he just didn’t care. Ludwig looked to the commissioner as if to ask if it was all right to let the incompetent detective in on the news, and judging by the dirty-blond’s microscopic shrug, he explained the situation.

“We’ll need to ask those useless security guards if they saw anything suspicious. Bonham, go get that damn Spaniard,” Arthur said, his eyes on Bonzo like a derisive sword as the detective uncharacteristically walked silently out of the office.

Francis then decided to speak up. And, as expected, it was something suggestive. “Antonio is a long time friend of mine! Maybe I should talk to him; I can be quite persuasive,” he said, the last bit said in a somewhat sultry tone.

For some reason unbeknownst to him, Arthur felt something like a pang of jealousy. Or it could have been his homecooked breakfast not settling right. He went with the latter.

“No, you wanker. You and Ms. Moreau need to go and test the rest of the evidence for prints,” Arthur said, sounding a bit like a spoiled child.

“But the only evidence was-”

“Leave!”

The two medical examiners quickly scurried out of the room as Antonio and Bonzo entered.

“You wanted to see me Commissioner?” the Spaniard asked innocently, flashing a charming smile at Arthur.

The acknowledged man raced out from behind his desk and seized a grip upon the front of Antonio’s uniform collar, pushing the other man against the wall aggressively.

“What the hell was so important last night that allowed you to be distracted for even a millisecond from your job?!”

Though Arthur was a good three inches shorter than him, Antonio still felt very intimidated.

“Well you see sir, I wasn’t. But the other guard was distracted I guess,” the taller man said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well I never saw him around. We usually switch posts every half hour, but I only saw him around 1:00 when he went inside for some reason. He said he had to go to the bathroom, but I wasn’t so sure because in order to ensure that the building is secure we usually just ask someone else to cover for us. He came back outside a while later with this box in one hand, and then he left even though his shift didn’t end until 6:00 this morning.”

“Who was it on duty?” Though Arthur was no longer angry (with Antonio, at least), he still had the Spaniard pinned to the wall of his office. After a short pause from Antonio, Arthur realized this and stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest to look intimidating instead.

“It was John Paul Jones. I checked the footage from the cameras last night to see what he could have been doing in here, but it was wiped clean. He could have done that, I guess.”

The taller man lied smoothly, but an inundation of guilt suddenly washed over him. He thought about telling the truth, but it occurred to him that if he turned his back on the mafia, they’d have him killed as soon as possible. More importantly, he couldn't upset Lovino.

"It's obvious that he's guilty. We'll have him arrested then. Beilschmidt, I-" Arthur turned to face the detective who had been characteristically silent the whole time, only to find him snoring softly with a faint smile on his pacified face.

_Joker HQ - 10:13 A.M._

Approaching Gotham’s city limits was a thought to be long forgotten amusement park, but a certain clown found it very appealing as a base of operations. The Joker had used the dilapidated attractions for a plethora of antics, the majority of them being death traps. Most of that was in Joker’s past at the time; he had relatively settled down and preferred to be behind the scenes instead of the main attraction. It was all right to him though. His somewhat retirement from Gotham’s Rogues Gallery influenced most of the others from that golden age of crime to follow his lead, so Batman’s nightly excursions weren’t as needed as before; to remind him of the past, Batman frequently visited the Joker. Things between them were surprisingly amiable even though the Clown Prince of Crime still was still capable of infuriating the Caped Crusader as much as he was in the past.

The Joker sat shuffling cards behind a desk in the madhouse located in the center of the park. He waited patiently for his two most loyal colleagues to bring him any news concerning Braginsky and his plan to utterly destroy all the Joker had worked so hard to build. He was lost in thoughts of the good old days -when the city was plagued by his reign of terror- when Jimmy Page and Robert Plant stepped through the doorway.

“We come bearing tidings of misfortune, m’lord,” the blond said, his shoulder-length curls disheveled from the cutting wind of Gotham’s near-winter. Jimmy stood beside him, his eyes distant.

Joker chuckled, his ennui forgotten. “Damn I’m glad I hired you! The way the words flow forth from your lips maketh me howl in mirth. It always brings a smile to my face. Well anyway, spill the beans, lambchop, I don’t have all day.”

“Well, Jonesy won’t be in to see us for a few days,” bluntly stated the raven-haired man with a slender nose and a prominent bottom lip.

“His dear lady hath been slain in these cruel times m’lord. Her death will be forever lamented by her loving husband and son,” quickly yet eloquently added the ancient-sounding man with a golden glow to his curly hair.

The Joker strolled over to Jimmy, a frown on his face, “Oh well that is unfortunate… hmm…. Ok well boys, I need some time to think. Why don’t you two go give Jonesy a big squeeze and tell him that I give him my condolences? And stay with him, I’m afraid this tragedy may be a harbinger for something much more sinister than expected. If you see a single one of that damn Russian’s men, slit his throat. But have fun with it. He’ll learn his place eventually.”

As soon as the viking-reminiscent duo left the room as instructed, but not before Robert bowed to his employer graciously, Joker let out a breath he’d been holding and turned around to sit back down. As he picked up his cards again, he stated to the seemingly empty room, “When did you decide to stop by?”

“When I heard that your main inside source’s wife had been killed, I knew that you wouldn’t be happy. I came to see if you’d throw a temper tantrum or not,” Batman said as he stepped out of the shadows, a slight smirk on his lips.

“You’re damn right I’m not happy. Those bastards are targeting my best guy. He’s always paranoid, and now that this has happened he probably won’t even work for me anymore. Of course, I won’t let that happen, but it’s the principle of it!” Joker complained, coming out from behind his desk only to sit on the edge of it, facing his “nemesis”.

“I agree. Something is going to happen, and it will bring the city even closer to destruction.”

The clown chuckled, “This city’s already going to Hell, and fast. It’s all Braginsky; I’ve let him have too much power, and this is what happens. He had the Bigfords killed, which has everybody scared out of their wits already because their beloved ‘saviors’ of the city aren’t here to save them anymore. And now this, trying to send a message to the underworld. One question though: why the hell haven’t you done anything about this guy?! What happened to my knight in gothic armor?”

“I’m working on it. Organized crime will never end, and you know that. Why do you think I haven’t done anything about you?”

The Joker laughed, but sadly this time. “What kind of a threat am I? Sure, I’ve got the drug ring and everything, but that’s nothing. Where’d all the pizzazz go? I remember a time when people quaked in fear when they saw my face, but now it’s on goddamn tee shirts, for crying out loud. In conclusion, Batsy, I need you to take down Braginsky ASAP. It’s about time for the return of the Joker, if I must say so myself.”

“You know I wouldn’t let that happen,” Batman said, his voice an odd mix of sarcasm, hope, and nostalgia.

With a final acknowledging nod to his antithesis, he slunk back into the shadows and left through a vent.

Joker sat back down in his chair with a huff and proceeded to spin in circles until the walls of the room were indistinguishable from the floor.

_John Paul Jones’s Apartment - 10:13 A.M._

“Jesus Christ… Jesus Christ…” murmured John Paul Jones while he waited for his son to answer his cell phone and rushed from his closet to his trunk and back to his leather briefcase.

The place was messy and cluttered with old clothes and junk stacked from floor to ceiling, but working for the Joker still had its perks. You never had to worry about providing for your family. You just had to worry if they’d survive the night.

Last night, John Paul’s wife had not survived. She lay dead on the floor in her faded blue nightgown stained with the blood that emanated from her chest.

J. P. Jones did not wish for her to be moved. Not yet. It seemed as though that each time he walked past her corpse, he cried a bit more. The tears that flowed down his cheek and by his mouth tasted bitter and glistened in the early morning’s light from the dirty windows of the room. She was undeniably beautiful. They had met at a casino. He lost about two grand to her that night, but her bright smile always seemed to draw him into agreeing to play one more game.

“Dad?” a soft voice that possessed a deep concern despite its unknowing of the situation answered.

“Michael?” the father replied with a crack in his voice.

“Son, I don’t have much time. Listen to me.”

The voice on the other line paused and grew into a shaking rattle that murmured, “Dad, what’s going on?”

“Your mother is dead. I’ll be dead soon, too. Dead or gone. Either way you can’t come home. I’ve arranged for you to stay with a friend from work. I love you. I’m sorry about everything.”John Paul Jones desperately said as he noticed a beautiful pearl necklace next to his gun. He picked up the pearls and the gun slowly.

“Michael, let me give you some advice. Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t trust anyone, no matter how loyal you think they are.”

Just then, the door burst open, and two GCPD officials burst in.

“Ludwig it’s him!” the hairy, angry cop yelled to his partner.

John Paul Jones dropped the pearls and defensively shot at the blond cop that lunged after him, only to miss him completely. The framed man then lept over his dead wife and burst through the window, fell down onto the concrete roof of the neighboring building, and sprinted across the roofs of the city. Ludwig charged through the broken window in pursuit of the “criminal”.

“What the hell are you doing?!” shouted his partner though it was too late for Beilschmidt to answer.

Bonzo then jumped - well it was more of a high step - through the window and was gashed by the pieces of sharp glass that had once shown hopeful light onto a now deceased lover and her mournful widower. Bonzo looked around him as he plummeted downward into the city of thieves. He crashed down upon a dumpster of the Italian restaurant nearby but picked himself up hurriedly and began to climb the fire escape of the aforementioned building, spitting out the blood that had accumulated in his mouth from his newly split lip.

John Paul Jones continued to dash and soar from building to building with more vigor than he knew he had in him, and his blond pursuer continued his chase as well. The sky was a pale grey-blue and its clouds were white and fluffy and seemed as though they were chasing the men across the city’s sky. The concrete beneath their feet seemed to push them up higher with each step as if it knew that both of them needed to keep moving.

Ludwig pulled his gun out and shot near the roof of the building that his target was on in order to startle his enemy. He succeeded. The “Bigford Murderer” jumped out of the way and slid across the concrete of the roof. Jones pulled his gun out and shot right at Ludwig’s chest as he leaned against the building’s whirring air-conditioning unit.

“Ludwig, move!” Bonzo called out as he lept across the building behind the pair and pushed the German policeman down before the bullet hit him. Bonzo weakly struggled to get back up once more.

“Shoot him Ludwig!”

John Paul Jones tackled Ludwig before he could do anything and rammed his fist into the German’s right eye. Ludwig rolled the older man onto his back quickly and got his hands around the other’s neck with ease. He was trained for situations like this. As he caught his breath he looked into the suspect’s eyes and noticed that he was crying. The moment after his focus was disrupted, everything seemed as if it was moving in slow motion. The exact moment Jones’s gun was raised and pointed towards Ludwig’s heart, another shot was fired.

After realizing he was, in fact, not dead, Ludwig looked up to see Bonzo standing about 10 yards away, tucking his pistol back into its holster. The portly detective didn’t seem pleased. Both cops now stood, trying to catch their breath.

“Thanks,” said the new cop.

His savior wasn’t as relieved, “You’re not strong enough for this city. Get out of this job before you get yourself killed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Mais tout doit finir pourtant dans la vie- but everything must come to an end in life  
> mon ami- my friend  
> Both are French, but I'm sure you knew that.
> 
> **Also, Monica the field examiner is my (mamunia's) take on Monaco.


End file.
